


In The Morning

by Sixthlight



Series: A Few Years Later [5]
Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sixthlight/pseuds/Sixthlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Thomas took Peter to his bed – or, more precisely, Peter took Thomas to his bed – Thomas couldn’t make up his mind what he wanted more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Same general future as Good Grammar, The Requirements of a First Date, and out of the corner of my eye, but not compatible with Traditional Decorations because they totally made it on the tech cave couch in that one. I know the summary sounds like it’s porn but…it’s basically unadulterated fluff. ~~Sorry.~~

The first time Thomas took Peter to his bed – or, more precisely, Peter took Thomas to _his_ bed – Thomas couldn’t make up his mind what he wanted more. To dive in, touch-starved as he was, revel in finally doing this; or to take their time about it, let himself have the full attention of Peter’s clever mind, learn every inch of him, in case this never came again. Not that he was so very worried about that – if they were going to do something this rash, he was certain they’d at least get more than a single night out of it, unless it went _terribly_ wrong – but even so.

In the event, as with so very few things in his life thus far, he got everything he’d wanted. When they’d slipped into Peter’s room, he’d thought he meant to be slow, be careful. Peter was far from uncertain in these things, but Thomas was sure he was not in the habit of taking male lovers. Slower was probably better.

Every good intention he had went out the window about thirty seconds after the door closed behind them, aided and abetted both by Peter’s own enthusiasm and the fact that it had been some time since he’d done this. He couldn’t have stuck to _slow_ if his life had depended upon it, not with Peter wrapped around him, moaning when Thomas pressed against his thigh. It couldn’t have been five minutes later that they were on the bed, panting and clutching each other as they came back to themselves, having not even managed to remove a single item of clothing between them. Or make it to the bed, except to collapse upon it.

“Wow, okay,” Peter said, looking at his watch – that hadn’t made it off, either. “Seems like _that_ was a while coming.”

The watch was the same one Thomas had given him that first Christmas, some years past now. As a gift it had been thoroughly practical and absurdly sentimental all at once – for one thing, it had been Thomas’s own, though rarely worn of late, and for another, if translated into modern terms his older sister’s engagement ring had cost less. Thomas had never found it in himself to regret it, though.

“Rather the opposite, wouldn’t you say,” Thomas said wickedly, and was treated to Peter laughing and hiding his face in Thomas’s neck at the same time. Perhaps he even blushed, but they both still had colour in their cheeks from the exertion of the past few minutes, so it was impossible to tell.

“I was looking forward to taking these off you,” Peter murmured after a minute or so, running his hand down Thomas’s flank, still clad in the crisp cotton shirt he’d been wearing all day, and skimming Thomas’s hip. He let the hand came to rest on Thomas’s thigh, warm through the trousers Thomas likewise still had on – which Thomas was _definitely_ going to have to attend to himself before he handed them over to Molly. “Been thinking about that.”

“Have you now,” said Thomas, taking the opportunity to kiss Peter’s forehead where his hair was beginning to spring out – about three weeks from his annual haircut, perhaps a month, if Thomas was any judge – and then down towards his jawline. Not to arouse, right now, but for the sheer pleasure of it, because he could.

“Mmmmm,” said Peter, thumb rubbing gentle circles on Thomas’s leg. The main light was off, but the bedside lamp was on, casting gentle shadows across them. Thomas was glad; he wanted to see this, to know it was real. “I always notice what you’re wearing. And then I started thinking how it’d look if I took it off you…one piece at a time…”

“When was that?” Thomas had to ask, because if Peter had been concealing an attraction to him for _years_ he’d done a damn good job of it.

“Not really sure,” Peter said thoughtfully. “Consciously – not that long ago. A few weeks, maybe. Subconsciously – I dunno. Longer. Maybe a lot longer. It wasn’t something I wanted to think about too closely.” His thumb was describing larger circles now, and they were working their way up Thomas’s thigh. Thomas was finding himself taking a renewed interest in proceedings, as opposed to just wanting to lay here with every available limb wrapped around Peter. They could always get back to – if pressed he supposed he would have to describe it as _cuddling_ , but only if pressed – later on.

“Well,” Thomas said, levering himself up on his elbows, “I see no reason you can’t still take them off. However many pieces at a time you wish.”

Peter grinned. “Oh, _good_.”

*

After the second round, when they were both finally naked and cleaned up – this would have been much less practical had Peter still been on the upper floor, using the communal bathroom – Thomas wanted nothing more than to stay here and drift gently off. There had been some awkwardness, as was usual when you first bedded someone, and a lot of laughter, and a great deal of pleasure; he was sleepy and content, now, and didn’t want to leave. But he wasn’t sure if Peter would want that, and wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. Not everyone liked sharing a bed for sleep. And although the beds on this floor were larger than those upstairs, they were still relatively confined for two adult men, one of whom was six foot and the other somewhat more. If Thomas stayed neither of them would forget they were sharing a bed with the other.

It felt awkward to say it aloud, but Thomas was well aware that if there was one abiding sin they shared that was likely to disrupt any intimate relationship between them, it was a reluctance to lend voice to anything that touched upon their, well, _feelings_ , or things they wanted purely for themselves. And given all else, it would have to be possible for them to ask this sort of thing of each other, to say what they needed or wanted; there was no greater structure for them to fall back on, as they could in their professional lives.

So Thomas went ahead and asked. “May I sleep here?”

“That’s why we’re _here_ , and not your room,” Peter said, sounding a little puzzled. He was picking up his clothes, which had been discarded beside the bed; Thomas had best do the same for his, or the creases would never come out. “If something happens, I’m still going to get called before you do; my mobile forwards to this phone, remember? We might not ever be able to sleep overnight in your room – that is – if you want – if this…keeps happening.”

“I was - rather operating under the presumption it would,” Thomas told him, folding his shirt over the back of Peter’s chair. “Weren’t you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” said Peter instantly, and the way he looked Thomas up and down wasn’t at all shy. “Yes. Absolutely.” He grinned, and sat down on the bed, rolling himself under the sheet and blankets, now pulled up again. The Folly’s heating had never been the best, and the air was cool on Thomas’s skin. “Come to bed, then.”

It was – terribly wonderful, and wonderfully terrible, to hear Peter say that, lying there with one naked shoulder visible above the blanket, all sincerity. Because Thomas wanted that, he realised with a sort of inevitability. He wanted to go to sleep beside Peter, to wake up with him, not just the sex but all the small moments in between. They resided in a house with four other people, besides Molly, and it wasn’t as if he would be free to kiss Peter hello, or take his hand at the breakfast table, or come up beside him and lean comfortably on his shoulder. In point of fact, with four apprentices around the place it wouldn’t have been appropriate whether or not he was also Peter’s – how did Peter put it – line manager. But they could have this, in here.

“Or you can just stand there and keep looking at me like that, I don’t mind,” Peter said, and Thomas realised he’d been staring, and got into bed with more haste than was perhaps necessary.

Peter switched off the light, and they arranged themselves for sleep; Thomas ended up with one arm across Peter’s chest and a leg between his, which would do.

“Oh my god, you’re an _octopus_ ,” Peter said, but it wasn’t a complaint. “I should have guessed. You’re all buttoned up the rest of the time, of course you’d be impossibly handsy now.”

“Glass houses,” Thomas mumbled into the pillow.

“Hmph,” said Peter, but as he had one hand lightly touching Thomas’s hair and was lying in such a way that Thomas couldn’t have moved his leg if he’d wanted to, he was in no position to respond. “And remember…” He yawned; they were both on the edge of sleep. “R’member, if the phone rings, _don’t answer it_.” He had very sensibly ensured that Thomas would have to extricate himself from and then climb over Peter in order to do so; the telephone was on Peter’s side of the bed, out of arm’s reach for Thomas.

“Mmmhmmm,” Thomas mumbled again. “G’night, Peter.”

“Night, Thomas,” Peter said, voice rough with sleep, and Thomas thought, _oh, I do love you_.

But that wasn’t a thing either of them was likely to just say, any time soon, maybe ever, and besides which Thomas fancied Peter already had some idea. So he mouthed it silently into the pillow, and thought, _I’ll tell him in the morning_. Not tomorrow, not this morning they were going to wake to – but some day, quite soon. Thomas knew all too well what happened if you waited on these things, and he knew Peter did, too.

He’d tell him in the morning.


End file.
